Evil Dragon, Without a Princess, I Had to Transform Myself!

Chapter 68 : Skewers?

The stench of rotting flesh filled the bloody mist as the Bone Dragon's emerald Soulfire dimmed in its eye sockets. First came scattered chunks of flesh, then its already battered body completely collapsed into fragments.

The girl strolled nonchalantly among the undead remains, untouched by blood, standing out like an anomaly. A natural barrier seemed to separate her from this filthy battlefield.

Her face remained utterly calm, devoid of any danger—almost excessively unchanging and emotionless. No matter how angry she became, it still maintained a gentle softness.

Even as his consciousness faded and his vision blurred to mere outlines, Allen couldn't help thinking: how pure and clear the spring breeze would feel, always caressing such a gentle face.

Allen's mind slipped away completely, leaving only the image of dandelion-colored hair in his thoughts.

Patunasankus quietly approached the last holy knight who retained a shred of consciousness before succumbing to death.

Oz didn't intervene; the lich's mind was still reeling.

One moment, the Bone Dragon had been flaunting its power—the next, it dropped dead. How was that fair?

The evil dragon didn't speak. Her crimson thunderblade, veins of lightning writhing along its edge, pointed directly at Allen's forehead. Her eyes held only the merciless cruelty and killing intent unique to the Black Death.

Naturally, she intended to silence the sole witness.

Killing a holy knight was nothing to Patunasankus. She had long lost count of how many overconfident holy knights she had hunted down over the years. The question was as difficult to answer as recalling how many pieces of meat she had eaten.

The evil dragon prepared to execute Allen as casually as she had the Bone Dragon. But in the next instant, the killing intent in her eyes vanished.

"?!"

Patunasankus studied Allen curiously, up and down.

This wasn’t mercy toward some so-called avatar of justice. It was more like stumbling upon a strangely shaped pug on the roadside—its odd appearance would make anyone pause for a second look.

Patunasankus twitched her nose. A faint, elusive scent.

A peachy sweetness, almost bewitching. Though its owner had tried hard to conceal it, how could such a thing escape the senses of an ancient dragon?

Patunasankus prided herself on her keen sense of smell. Not that it made her a dog or anything.

But yes, it was sharp.

"A succubus?"

Patunasankus muttered uncertainly, frowning as she pinched her chin in thought.

"A half-succubus? A mutt?"

Seeming to reach some conclusion, she glanced again at the fallen holy knight—his silver armor, the glimmering stars, the phoenix emblem symbolizing honor and loyalty.

"A succubus holy knight?" Patunasankus declared.

Though phrased as a question, her tone carried absolute certainty.

"A succubus holy knight!"

The evil dragon had rendered her verdict on Allen.

With effortless ease, Patunasankus flicked her fingers, crushing the skull of a nearby skeleton that dared disturb her.

A pleased smirk curled her lips as she let out a soft laugh.

Amid the wasteland of undead bones and deathly mist, the girl laughed with unbridled delight.Patunasankus didn't know how long she had been laughing, but in any case, she had lost the desire to kill this holy knight.

Too amusing, far too amusing.

Keeping such a character alive would be much more interesting.

Driven by the evil dragon's innate nature for seeking amusement, Patunasankus reluctantly spared Allen, leisurely shifting her attention to the lich hovering high in the air.

The sense of crisis from being watched by the Black Death sent shivers down Oz's skull.

The frail-looking girl before him felt more terrifying than a thousand holy knights combined.

Her thunderous methods instantly made Oz realize who had dismantled his magic puppets like toys.

A princess? Her, this thing? Are you joking?

If that's the case, was the hero truly a useless fool?!

Who knew why such a powerful being would appear following a useless hero? Could she be here to play house?

He wouldn't believe it even if beaten to death!

"Esteemed one, though I don't know why you're here, we bear no grudges against each other," Oz attempted to wipe nonexistent sweat from his brow. "Can we settle this peacefully?"

Patunasankus remained unresponsive.

The only reply Oz received was a dazzling crimson thunderblade.○A deafening roar echoed around them, announcing its presence with a beast-like voice. The entire tower seemed to shake, dust raining from the ceiling.

"Th-thunder?"

Inside Oz tower, Loranhir looked around in alarm. She had never heard such terrifying thunder before—the ground beneath her feet seemed to tremble, her heart leaping into her throat.

"P-perhaps so." Elaphia also found the thunder unnatural.

What kind of thunder came with an earthquake? Oz's tower didn't even have lightning rods.

"No time to worry about thunder. As long as we haven't triggered any traps, it's fine." Loranhir tried to reassure herself.

After all she'd been through, her nerves had grown tougher.

Small potatoes, just small potatoes.

The only thing that could send her heart racing now was if the Black Death itself appeared to reclaim the princess she'd stolen.

Though puzzled by the sudden commotion, Loranhir pushed the thought aside. The priority now was to destroy Oz's phylactery.

Who knew how long the holy knights she'd tricked into helping could hold out?

Even if Allen and his fierce holy knights might not lose—they might have already won—relying on others was never a good strategy.

Gods, holy swords, and heroes were all unreliable. In the end, she had to depend on herself.

"The lich's phylactery should be just ahead," Elaphia pointed out. "It's so quiet. There aren't many magic traps inside the tower—quite different from outside."

The interior of Oz tower was surprisingly devoid of traps, or perhaps the two were just lucky, avoiding pitfalls like the one Hedica had fallen into.

"Ah, maybe the lich focused all its attention on the magic puppets and didn't have resources left to defend the phylactery."Loranhir pushed open the final iron gate, revealing an extremely narrow corridor inside. The moment she stepped in, she heard the click of a mechanism, and a sudden sense of foreboding washed over her.

Like a triggered signal, countless skeletons crawled up from the ground, their hunched backs and lifeless gazes turning toward her, as if the dead of hell were staring at one of their own trying to escape.

Fifty… a hundred… a thousand…

Well, the village girl had lost count after the first hundred.

All she saw was an endless sea of undead, treading upon waves of Ghost Fire, advancing step by step in perfect unison.

"Leave this to me," she heard Elaphia say as the woman took a step back, blocking the only exit.

"The hero should do what the hero must," Elaphia tilted her head, signaling for Loranhir to hurry forward.

"Don’t worry about me. Go do what you need to do. You’re far stronger than I am—don’t waste time here."

Loranhir suddenly felt so overwhelmed she wanted to cry, but she clenched her fists and charged ahead.